


the basics of flight

by seunggilonice (howsheblushes)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sci-Fi AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsheblushes/pseuds/seunggilonice
Summary: "Aren't you mad at me? I kind of lost you all your friends," Seunggil says. It’s like a dam broke on his emotions. His words are angry. Frustrated.The puzzle pieces click into place. "No. Those guys were being assholes; someone had to shut them up," Phichit says. "You don't owe me anything, you know?"Seunggil exhales. "You're not wingless. You wouldn't know anything about owing."Phichit searches for a good answer to that, his wings blue and bright and accusing on his back, cutting off any decent argument. "Can I at least eat lunch with you tomorrow?"Seunggil sends him a pained glance. "You want to eat lunch with me?""It's a good bathroom."Seunggil looks like he's wondering after Phichit's sanity. "Yeah. Why not."[Or, the story of a boy with wings and a boy without.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avioxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avioxe/gifts).



> this was written with my friend andrea (who im so honored to write with) and dedicated to our friend felix. hope you like!

If there was one thing that was certain about humans, it was that they were too curious for their own good.

 

Curious as to what would happen if they ignored the warning signs. Curious as to what would happen if they dropped bombs upon the innocuous blue marble of the earth. Curious as to what would happen if they annihilated the very planet they existed upon, fine gray ash drifting along the wind.

 

Curiosity killed the cat, indeed.

 

It was only a few years after World War IV when the experiments began.

 

Hundreds of people were gathered up and sent away to laboratories. Picked randomly- almost like lottery winners. Told they were going to be part of a "new generation of humans".

 

Nobody _really_ knew what happened to those people, but it was said to be like this: their genes unwound like yards of thread, twisted and mutated until they became something else.

 

Eventually, the information was leaked, splashed onto news headlines and article titles like paint. Humanity's obsession with the ability to fly had finally come to a point - by splicing together the DNA of a bird and a human, the scientists had created a new species: the Avien.

 

Although some were open-minded, humans often regarded the Aviens as mistakes, freaks of nature. After years of mistreatment, they banded together and rose up against the government, sparking a new world war that fought for the ruined pieces of the earth. Amidst the chaos, with only half of the population remaining, the Aviens won out.

 

They established a new government, creating a queendom. They agreed that as long as people were corrupt, democracy could never _truly_ work. "Democracy is the means by which the many dominate the few," one of the queen's advisors stated.

 

The queen was Lilia Baranovskaya, rumoured to be the first Avien ever created. Although many years had passed since the experiments, she never seemed to age. It was whispered that when the humans were originally performing the trials, they had modified her genetic code a little _too_ much, effectively making her immortal. Calm and collected. A deadly statue.

 

Society rebuilt itself. Technology advanced. Generations passed, and the number of Aviens grew. It became an odd thing, after a while, to see people walking around on the ground.

 

As much as everyone tried to ignore it, though, their new society was far from pure.

 

\---

It's unbearably hot for September, the sun bright and suffocating at only seven in the morning. Phichit scuffs his shoe on the concrete, just another anxious fifth-year in a sea of primary students. The first day of school; he could barely bring himself to choke down his allotted ratio of carbohydrates this morning…

 

The bell rings, and Phichit forces himself through the double doors, swept forward by the tidal wave of a hundred or so other kids. A snapbag hits him in the face at one point, and he follows the thinning flow to the fifth year hall. Like a tributary branching off from a river.

 

The classroom is neat and bright and air-conditioned: silvery desks in neat rows, a holopad attached to each one. Each of the holopads has been programmed to display a name, and Phichit finds "Chulanont, P" and sits down in his workspace.

 

He tucks his wings against his back and twirls his stylus between his fingers. It's a good stylus, red and gold with a black mesh point. He'll have to be careful not to lose it, or else he'll never hear the end of it from his mom.

 

Phichit is in the back corner, and he checks the name on the holopad to the left: Seunggil Lee. A common, unassuming name. Phichit bounces up and down in his seat- he hopes Seunggil will be nice. It’d suck to sit next to a jerk all year.

 

But he double-takes when he sees him because Seunggil _doesn’t have wings_. He's wearing the kind of shirt that Aviens do, the kind with slits cut into the fabric (it makes sense; clothing for humans have gone almost obsolete), but it just serves to accentuate the lack of anything sprouting from his back.

 

Seunggil avoids Phichit's gaze. Dark hair and dark eyes, framed by impossibly dark lashes. He tucks himself into the seat like he's trying to make himself as small as possible, like he's a turtle in one of those storybooks that Phichit's mom reads off her holopad at night. His face is completely devoid of any expression, like he’s daring anyone to talk to him.

 

If Seunggil had wings, they'd be black, Phichit thinks. A dark onyx with feathers like night. But even at eleven, he knows enough not to voice this out loud.

 

Phichit does not end up saying hi. He doesn’t say anything at all, which might be some kind of new record. He wants to, all morning, but every time, he’ll think _wingless_ and the words will get stuck at the back of his throat _._

 

The educator skips Seunggil’s name during roll call, and the boy does not correct her. But he gets noticed eventually. Maybe it's because of how hard he's trying to deflect his attention.

 

When the whispers start about the boy without wings, they don't stop.

 

\---

 

Phichit is- in the plainest sense- popular.

 

He gets accepted into the crowd at recess, never lacking for a game to play. He’s got a bright smile and a loud voice that cuts into conversations at just the right moments, and his social circle widens in radius at an exponential pace. It’s only a month in when his mom gets a stern phone call from the school about Phichit being a _disturbance to the classroom environment._

 

Which really just means they want him to shut the hell up, his friend Max says. It’s not something that necessarily needs to be pointed out, but swearing is something that the fifth years have discovered and are just beginning to liberally abuse.

 

Seunggil, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. Phichit always tries to sit as far away from him as possible, which doesn’t really work since their workspaces are positioned right next to each others. But Seunggil makes him feel on edge. His lack of wings paints a bullseye on his back, and Phichit doesn't want to be anywhere near the arrow when it flies.

 

Seunggil is- well- quiet, never speaking at all in class unless called on. It’d be mysterious if it weren’t so obtrusively _pathetic_ : hiding inside the school during recess and eating lunch alone in the bathrooms.

 

Like Phichit says. A target.  

 

(If Phichit were being honest with himself, the reason that Seunggil makes him uncomfortable has nothing to do with the lack of wings or his quiet tendencies. It’s that Phichit feels _ashamed._ That he can’t speak up for this boy that did nothing wrong.)

 

It’s two months before that Seunggil says anything  Their class is converting fractions to decimals, and Phichit doesn’t understand how to do it. He scribbles on his Holopad, watching his work get messier and messier. His stylus burns under the weight of his frustration.

 

"You're doing it wrong," a voice says from next to him. Quiet, sharp, hard. It's a tone that Phichit usually isn't on the receiving end of. And it's from _Seunggil_.

 

Phichit spends an entire second gaping at him before he says, stupidly, "What?"

 

"Nothing," Seunggil mumbles quietly, ducking his head. But it's too late- Phichit is desperate. His math scores are dangerously low already, and he knows his mom is considering placing him in supplementary classes.

 

"I know I'm doing it wrong," Phichit says, scooting as far into Seunggil's space as he can. "Do you know how to do it?"

 

Seunggil glares at him. "Of course I do."

 

"Can you show me?"

 

Seunggil's mouth puckers. Hisses, “Fine, just _stop talking to me_.” He scoots his holopad a few inches in Phichit's direction and begins to work through the problem step by step, taking it painstakingly slow. His handwriting practically radiates condescension.

 

And Phichit? He _gets it_.

 

The crazy thing is, Seunggil keeps helping him, his mouth turned up in a quiet smirk. Like maybe he’s enjoying showing Phichit just how dumb he is. But Phichit is so immensely grateful that he doesn’t care.

 

His math grades go up and his mom stops looking at his holopad records with such a worried twist of his mouth. And Phichit resolves, looking at Seunggil, to forget that he doesn’t have wings. And it works.

 

\---

 

Actually, that’s not true at all. It's hard to forget that someone doesn't have something when it's literally missing right off the skin of their backs. And it's never as painfully conspicuous  as it is when Seunggil is surrounded by those who do have wings, negative space where others have a brilliant spectrum of feathers.

 

Seunggil knows how to disappear, though. He's really good at it.

 

But he was bound to get mocked eventually.

 

It's March, the weather cool and damp. Phichit is playing airball on one of the courts during recess, and Seunggil is huddled off against one of the playground walls, his faded gray sweatshirt blending into the grimy walls. Phichit doesn’t even notice him.

 

It's ten minutes in when one of the guys that Phichit's playing airball with leaves the courts. Phichit watches with interest- and, eventually, apprehension- as he approaches Seunggil. "Where are your wings?"

 

Seunggil doesn't answer. A ball nearly smacks Phichit in the face; he is no longer paying any attention to the game.

 

"I said, where are your wings?" the boy asks, his voice dipping dangerously.

 

Seunggil ducks his head down further before saying in that calm, measured voice, "I left them at home."

 

"Are you actually dumb?" the boy sneers, and by now, several people have flocked over to watch the scene. Phichit can't breathe. Seunggil had avoided this up until now…

 

"Are you?" Seunggil retorts. "I'm wingless." He scuffs at the ground with his shoe.

 

"Get out of our school, freak," someone says.

 

A girl laughs. "You don't belong here."

 

Seunggil turns his head away toward the wall like he wished he'd never said anything at all, and this incites the other boy enough that he hisses, "Hey, don't just ignore me when I'm talking to you, wingless," and he pushes off the ground and spirals into the air.

 

The crowd is laughing now. Seunggil presses himself further into the wall, the electricity of a promised and unfair fight crackling through the air. And then Seunggil swivels around, hands balling into fists, when-

 

"Hey!" Phichit yells, barely believing his own voice. "Stop!"

 

The boy stares at him coolly. "Who are you? Another wingless freak?"

 

Phichit lets his wings spread out behind him, pushing off his sneakers so that he matches the other in the air. The crowd is actually chanting for a fight to happen at this point, and Phichit and the boy circle each other in the air, glaring.

 

"This isn't your fight," the guy says.

 

"Get away from my friend," Phichit snaps, and then it's on, a flurry of feathers and fists. Phichit feels his face bruise on impact, and both of them are hissing and bloody and spitting when they're dragged apart by two of the teachers and sent to the sickroom.

 

Phichit's the one who gets the worst consequences, a two week long suspension. Because he was defending the wingless. His mom doesn't say much, only whispers, you did the right thing, and Phichit tries to hold onto that as he goes back to school and no one will talk to him because he’s a _wingless-freak_ lover.

 

Seunggil doesn't say thank you or anything. Doesn't say anything at all, doesn’t even _look_ at him. He continues passing Phichit the holopad during math, but the smirk is gone, replaced by something wary and sorrowful.

 

And Phichit tries not to cry.

 

\---

 

Social quarantine hurts. Phichit isn't used to this: the silence. There are things to learn, now. How to hover at the edge of the playground, blending into the walls. How to avoid people’s eyes as he grabs his lunch and heads for an empty spot in the cafeteria. How to be _quiet_.

 

Phichit is an extrovert; it’s like wearing clothes five sizes too small. He's always had lots of people to talk to…

 

It’s been two weeks and Phichit is at his breaking point. When Seunggil ducks into the bathroom one day to eat his lunch, Phichit follows, deciding that he’s got nothing to lose. Seunggil probably didn’t want to be defended; it was a stupid move of Phichit’s.

 

Maybe Phichit should’ve let Seunggil get his stupid nose smashed on his own. _God_.

 

"Hey," Phichit says, sliding down the wall and taking out his pasta. Now that he’s being forced to notice, the bathroom is surprisingly clean. The lights are sterile and fluorescent  and the walls washed in dull tan, but the floor is dry and clear.

 

Seunggil, consciously or unconsciously, presses himself harder into the corner. "Hello?" he says back. Like he's uncertain.

 

Phichit actually might eat in here afterwards; he's sick of trying to find a spot in the cafeteria to sit at. He takes another bite of his pasta. "Does anyone ever come in here?"

 

Seunggil stares at him like he's sprouted a second head, but there’s no animosity when he responds. "Not really... I used to eat in the stalls, just to make sure. But for some reason no one uses this one."

 

"The one on the second floor is a magnet," Phichit says. It's true. Graffiti all over the walls, people congregating in bunches to discuss everything from wing tattoos to who likes who.

 

Seunggil shrugs. "I wouldn't know." He ducks his head down, staring at his sandwich.

 

Phichit searches for another conversation topic. Seunggil's body language is something he's not used to dealing with: discomfort, mixed in with hundreds of other things. A closed-off brick wall.

 

Phichit opens his mouth. Closes it.

 

Doesn't know what to say, really.

 

A few minutes later, Seunggil finally speaks. "Why are you _here_?"

 

Now it’s Phichit’s turn to blink owlishly at him. "What?"

 

Isn't it obvious? The cafeteria's too crowded- no one's speaking to him. Unless Seunggil doesn't recognize that. He doesn't particularly strike someone as caring about social health.

 

"I mean... why'd you follow me," Seunggil says. His voice is cracked and small, nothing like the confident, cool voice he'll give the educator when she asks him a question.

 

(Always the hardest in the lesson plan, like she's trying to catch Seunggil off guard. Like she needs another reason why he doesn’t belong here.)

 

"I wanted to talk to you," Phichit says, taking another bite of pasta and pretending it doesn't taste like ash in his mouth. _Just breathe._

 

"Aren't you mad at me? I kind of lost you all your friends," Seunggil says. It’s like a dam broke on his emotions. His words are angry. Frustrated.

 

The puzzle pieces click into place. "No. Those guys were being assholes; someone had to shut them up," Phichit says. "You don't owe me anything, you know?"

 

Seunggil exhales. "You're not wingless. You wouldn't know anything about owing."

 

Phichit searches for a good answer to that, his wings blue and bright and accusing on his back, cutting off any decent argument. "Can I at least eat lunch with you tomorrow?"

 

Seunggil sends him a pained glance. "You want to eat lunch with me?"

 

"It's a good bathroom."

 

Seunggil looks like he's wondering after Phichit's sanity. "Yeah. Why not."

 

\---

 

After a week, the rumors start: the wingless freak and the wingless freak lover are now friends. _Don’t let them get to you_ , Seunggil says firmly one day, to Phichit’s pained expression. It’s the end of the conversation.

 

Seunggil is like metal, untouchable, and Phichit swallows his sadness and tries to follow suit, flashing everyone his brightest smile. (It's maybe half the wattage of his actual smile, but the difference is unnoticeable to anyone who doesn't know him.)

 

And Phichit also tries his best not to latch onto Seunggil like a two-armed octopus because that is clingy and pathetic. Phichit isn’t _that_ starved for social interaction, and besides, Seunggil doesn’t seem like he’s used to friendship.

 

And maybe Seunggil’s right to be wary; Phichit just hopes to prove him wrong.

 

But he eats lunch with Seunggil every day in the bathroom now, backs against the hard walls, and Seunggil will actually sometimes initiate the conversation. Phichit internally fist-pumps every time that happens.

 

"I have to take a test," Seunggil says quietly. "It'll be all day, so don't expect me in here tomorrow."

 

Seunggil is blunt and direct to the point of being rude. Phichit learns to be okay with that. He doesn't have much of a brain-to-mouth filter, either.

 

"Really? What test?"

 

Seunggil's face sours, looking down at his sandwich like it had suddenly turned into a lemon. "It's a wingless test. If I want to go to the Avien middle school, I have to pass it.” The hard, closed-off look on his face indicates that this subject is over.

 

Phichit doesn't know what to say to that. He tries to flatten his wings so that they might disappear- he finds himself doing that a lot, actually. Seunggil is glaring at the wall, and Phichit doesn't want to seem- stupid. Privileged, at his next words.

 

Because Phichit doesn't have to take any test, and he’s so much dumber than Seunggil. It's not fair, he wants to tell him. But Seunggil already knows that.

 

"Good luck," Phichit finally decides on. "You'll definitely pass."

 

Seunggil's mouth quirks up at that, a cynical kind of amused. "Don't be so sure, Chulanont. There's plenty of ways the system could screw me over."

 

Phichit looks up non-Avien schools on his holopad later, the ones for the ‘genetically inferior’. They're cramped and dirty with a twenty-percent passing rate. He clenches his fists and prays to every god he knows.

 

Seunggil better pass.

 

(He does.)

 

\---

 

"My mom wants to meet you," Seunggil says one day in the bathroom, keeping his eyes locked on the tile floor. He spits it out like he wishes he weren't saying it.

 

Phichit grins around his casserole. "You told your mom about me?"

 

Seunggil rolls his eyes. "She wants to make sure you're real."

 

"I'm very real," Phichit says, affronted. "And yeah, I'll come."

 

Seunggil lets out a pained sigh. "Are you sure?"

 

“Do you not want me to?”

 

“At this point, I don’t know,” Seunggil mutters. “We’re- wingless. And my mom doesn’t know you’re Avien.” He sounds like he regrets the whole thing, and Phichit swallows down his nervosa.

 

“You didn’t tell her?”

  
Seunggil looks down, so pained that Phichit can’t bring himself to berate him any further. It’s not like _he_ understands Seunggil’s position.

 

“Nah. I’ll be cool,” Phichit assures him, bumping his shoulder to Seunggil’s.

 

Seunggil rubs his forehead. “You’re never cool. That’s why you’re eating your lunch in the bathroom right now with me- _hey_.” Phichit grins, popping another slice of Seunggil’s peaches into his mouth, revelling in the fact that he can steal Seunggil’s food and get away with it.

 

He boards the transportation network with Seunggil that afternoon and gets off at his stop. Seunggi jerkily heads off in one direction, his fists clenched at his side, and Phichit follows suit.

 

He's never been here before- it's one of the wingless neighborhoods. The houses are all small and dark and dirty, and people glare at him from the sidewalks, his wings bright and obtrusive on his back. This was what Seunggil was worried about.

 

Phichit plasters on his brightest smile.

 

"I don't know," Seunggil says softly when they get to his house. "What do you think?" Their house is small, paint peeling off the walls. Everything looks cheap and secondhand, the bare minimum of furniture crammed into a tiny living room.

 

Seunggil's hands shake at his sides. "I like it," Phichit says, and it's the truth. Because somehow, the place is kind in a way that math equations sent over holopad are.

 

Seunggil's mom stands at the doorway, a pie in her hands. When she sees Phichit (well, more specifically, his back), she drops it with a tiny scream, yellow cream splattering all over the floor. She turns a pleading eye on Seunggil.

 

Seunggil looks like a deer in the headlights, shaking so badly it's actually physically possible to see his tremble. "This is Phichit," he mumbles. "He's- Avien."

 

"Okay," Seunggil's mom says, turning a painfully awkward smile on Phichit. "Would you um- I'm sorry, about the pie-"

 

"Don't worry about it," Phichit says, grinning.

 

He and Seunggil pretend to study for about half an hour before it morphs into Seunggil doing both of their science homeworks while Phichit rambles on about everything and nothing.

 

It's perfect and fun and Seunggil's mother is eventually charmed, asking him to come over whenever he likes. _If you want_ , she’d said, and Phichit answered, _Of course._

 

But he feels the stares of the wingless when he gets home. His wings feel like privilege, too heavy and blocky on his back.

 

Seunggil seems relieved, though, that Phichit comes to the bathroom the next day to eat lunch. And Phichit knows by now that their friendship is never going to be accepted by the world but the knowledge isn’t exactly that new of a blow. Besides, Seunggil is there, eating noodles, and he doesn't seem to plan on leaving anytime soon.

 

\---

 

It’s early September, the weather hot and muggy. The kind that makes Seunggil want to audibly groan - he definitely prefers the cold over the heat. It’s too humid and his clothes seem to stick to his skin. Damned global warming.

 

The weather isn’t the only thing that wants to make him groan, though: September means the start of a new school year, and Seunggil’s entering middle school.

 

The heat has nothing on that. There’s so much stigma surrounding the mixing of Avien and wingless; he had to work for _months_ to even take the test that would grant him admission to the Avien middle school. He’s used to it, though.

 

He’s the only wingless child out of the three hundred students in his grade. He’s aware of the bullseye painted on his back where wings should be; it’s been there since he started primary. The constant flurries of whispers around the school, carried on unseen currents, are a fixture in Seunggil’s life. It’s his reputation.

 

The social isolation doesn’t affect him too much. Although he hides it, there are moments where he wishes he was normal - or rather, extraordinary - but they’re fleeting. If there’s anything he’s learned, it's that kids his age are assholes, especially to those who are different.

 

The exception to this rule of thumb is Phichit Chulanont, his best friend. Actually, his only friend since he’d moved from the wingless school to the Avien school in fifth grade... but he didn’t have many friends back then anyway.

 

He still remembers the pure and unadulterated excitement he’d felt when he finally found out he’d be able to leave the dirty and understaffed school for the wingless. They were notorious for giving children a bad start, and if you wanted to do something that was beneficial to society in your life, you’d work as hard as possible to get out of there.

 

Once you did, you ended up in a school where everyone thought you were genetically _less_ than them, like you had something missing - which, to them, you did. Not to mention the rumour that Aviens were scientifically proven to be smarter than wingless (which was, in fact, absolute bullshit), combined with biased teachers always giving you the hardest time out of everyone in class.

 

It’s a fabulous system.

 

But Phichit’s presence in his life does make things a little better, even if he, too, became a social reject by defending Seunggil last year. Seunggil still doesn’t completely forgive himself for that; if he’d just ignored the other Avien kids, Phichit might still have his reputation intact. Phichit, at the very least, seems to have forgiven him for it. (Seunggil doesn’t bring it up, ever.)

 

After about five minutes of searching, Seunggil finally finds his homeroom class. Thankfully, he and Phichit are in the same class again. Although it's early, Phichit’s already in his seat, talking to another Avien kid. Seunggil lowers his eyes shut- _don’t ruin this for Phichit_ . _Please don’t_.

 

It’s middle school. A fresh start. He’ll give Phichit the opportunity to pretend not to know him, and that’s fine, Seunggil is used to being alone.

 

But then Phichit is tugging him by the wrist toward the Avien. _God, he’s stupid_. “Hey, Seunggil! This is Guang-hong Ji. Guang-hong, this is Seunggil Lee, the one I told you about!”

 

Seunggil can feel Guang-hong’s eyes on him- wide with shock, but without the usual glint of malice. “I’m wingless,” Seunggil confirms quietly. “You can stop staring.”

 

A flush rises on his cheeks, and Seunggil notices his light freckles. “S-sorry! I’ve just never, ah… seen someone like you,” he explains, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Y’know, at my old school, there weren’t any wingless.” Maybe he’s the good kind of Avien, he thinks.

 

Phichit shakes his head amusedly. “Seunggil’s like that. He’s got no filter. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

 

Seunggil really hopes so, because trying to act otherwise is more draining than school itself.

 

\---

 

Two weeks pass, and Guang-hong seems to be pretty nice. Seunggil thought he was just shy, but the way he rambles when he’s around Phichit at lunch (in the bathroom as usual - surprisingly, Guang-hong doesn’t act like it bothers him) tells otherwise. The kid has a penchant for horror movies, too. The kind with blood. And swords. And assassins.

 

When Seunggil learns this, it actually takes much of his willpower to keep his stoic face.

 

Monday at lunch, after swallowing a bite of sandwich, Guang-hong says, “There’s someone I want you guys to meet!”

 

The thought makes Seung-gil’s food stick in his throat. Three’s a crowd, after all. “They’re… like _us,_ right?” He ventured.

 

Guang-hong nods. “I’ve told him about you guys before. He’s not really like anyone here, you know, wingless-haters or whatever. His name’s Leo.”

 

And so, the next day at lunch, they meet him.

 

From first impressions, Leo’s a relaxed kind of guy. “I’m Leo de la Iglesia. I like music,” he states, giving half a shrug. Maybe a quarter of a shrug. Seunggil has the urge to _calculate the percentage_ of shoulder roll.

 

“Ooh! Do you play anything?” Phichit inquires, smiling.

 

He nods. “Guitar’s my hobby.”

 

“Really?” Seunggil asks softly. “That’s pretty cool. I wish I played an instrument. I’m only good at math.” It’s a lot more than he usually says, but Leo sends him a warm smile and Seunggil thinks, _don’t mess this up for Phichit_.

 

“Everyone’s good at different things,” Leo assures him, taking a look at their surroundings. “Also, no offense, but… why do you guys eat lunch in the bathroom? Can’t you eat in the cafeteria?”

 

Phichit gives Seunggil a knowing look, and Phichit begins to explain why he and Seunggil aren’t friendly with most of the students at school. (He doesn’t mention how Guang-hong’s social status has been decaying over the past few weeks, too).

 

Leo shakes his head with disappointment. “Those guys are asshats. You don’t deserve that.”

 

Phichit shrugs. “I don’t really mind it. You get used to it after a couple months.” Seunggil feels guilty at the way his chest blooms warm at those words.

 

Their conversation goes in a million different directions after that, Phichit skillfully guiding it from one tangent to another. Leo rambles on the music he likes, and then it somehow shifts to Seunggil and Guang-hong fighting over vegetables. It’s more of a one-sided ramble than anything because of Seunggil’s reserve, but tenfold the amount he usually speaks.

 

(It’s a subject he’s passionate about; vegetables are _vile_. God, he hates rations…)  

 

“I knew you’d like him,” Guang-hong enthuses afterwards, Leo heading off to his language arts class.

 

Their trio of freaks becomes a quartet, and the middle school third floor bathroom sees more use than it has in decades.


	2. Chapter 2

Seunggil has always preferred the morning to any other time of day. It’s a good time for those who seek solitude, for those who like to think, and Seunggil is both. 

The rest of the city is still asleep, the first blades of the sun cutting pale and harsh through the windows. Seunggil sits at his desk and stares at the dark screen of his old and outdated holopad. He’d applied for a job washing dishes just across town and was expecting to hear back sometime today. It wasn’t much, but it was a job, at the very least. 

Back before high school, Seunggil still had a (hopeful, stupid) reason to fight. He pulled all-nighters studying for biased tests and spent hours reading for loopholes that might allow him to attend better schools. It was all futile in the end. There wasn’t any kind of future for a non-Avien; it took everything just to stay alive. 

(He’s not sure if it’s preferable to death at this point.) 

Seunggil rubs his eyes and opens up the keyboard, fingers hovering over the letters. He thinks about messaging Phichit, but he probably wouldn’t be up for another four hours or so. Besides, the private network shouldn’t be abused just for the sake of Seunggil’s boredom. 

Seunggil almost considers going back to bed, but then he notices the flashing dot of light on the corner of his holopad, indicating a comm. He opens it with the full expectation that it’s from the restaurant before noticing that the sender is unfamiliar. It occurs too late that it might be a spam or a virus, but it doesn’t have the telltale short message that a hack usually does. 

The font is royal, demanding. Seunggil skims the first paragraph. “Dear Seunggil Lee, we are pleased to inform you that due to exceptional academic achievement, you have been specially selected for a delightful opportunity,” it reads. Seunggil’s heart crawls its way to his throat. 

When he finishes reading, his heart stops altogether. 

But his mind stays sharp, even as his physical self crumbles like plaster. He’d been ready for this for a long time- ever since the first decree came in- and he absorbs the reality with the grace of getting hit with a brick. 

Which is to say, elegantly. Seunggil has gotten plenty of bricks thrown at him through the course of his non-Avien lifetime, and he’s gotten good at ignoring the bruising and carrying on. 

The thing about these messages, these opportunities: reporting for them is _mandatory_. The government has been pushing for the full eradication of the human species for years, and Seunggil knows that the roundup he’s part of is far from the first. When the government sinks their claws into him, he’ll disappear. Seunggil Lee will be gone without a trace. 

Seunggil opens up the private network and presses on Phichit’s number.   
_Video me as soon as you get this_ , he sends.

While he’s waiting, Seunggil pushes his face in his knees and thinks. If he’s disappearing, he’s disappearing on his own terms. His mind is a reservoir, plan after plan swirling around inside it, some better than others. The best one, however, involves a willing Avien, and Seunggil won’t drag Phichit into this unless he wants to come. 

Thankfully, Phichit videocomms him around 8:00 AM. At this point, Seunggil’s nerves are definitely shot, and he’s the closest he’s been to a panic attack in a while.

Phichit’s hair is mussed and his clothes are wrinkled, evidently fresh from sleep. Another kind of nervosa, this one quiet and wanting and subtle, adds itself to the storm. “Y-yeah?” Phichit asks, yawning mid-word.

“Alright, Chulanont,” Seunggil says, words retaining their usual bored timbre. “You might want to pinch yourself or something to wake up, since this is important.” 

Phichit does so - right in the crook of his arm, letting out a soft _ow_ in the process. “Okay, I’m all ears,” he affirms, significantly more alert than before. “Go ahead.”

Seunggil clears his throat. “Well, this morning, I got a comm,” he explains, and this is it- this is the moment he breaks. “And it was-”

Phichit’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Seunggil, is everything okay?” 

A sudden wetness stains his cheeks, almost confounding- Seunggil hasn’t cried in the past decade. “N-no,” he affirms, his words a terrifying mess of monotone and static. “I got one of those comms that told me to report for government work, and we all know what happens if I show up. Or if I don’t.” 

It seems to take Phichit a moment to process this, his face uncharacteristically blank. After a moment, he coughs. “Alright. Do you have a plan?”

Seunggil nods his head, mechanically wiping at his tears. “I’m running tonight. There are gaps between individual cities that show high rates of resistance activity.”

A second of silence. 

“With me, right?” Phichit demands, right afterwards. “You’re not leaving without me.” 

Seunggil says quietly, “I’m a selfish person. You know that. But I can’t ask this of you.” 

Phichit actually _snorts_ at that. Loudly. “You’re not gonna get anywhere without a pair of wings, and anyway, I’m already high on the suspect list when it comes to like- what was the term- suspicious activity. And I know we haven’t talked to them in a long time, but I’ll comm Guang-Hong and Leo, too. You’re not doing anyone a favor by leaving me behind.” 

Seunggil doesn’t say anything, rolling Phichit’s words in his mind like sour candy. “You’re such an idiot,” he finally says. “And contrary to your belief, I’ll be _fine_ on my own. But if you really want to come- if you don’t change your mind- I’ll be in the city chapel at midnight. You know the one.” 

“See you tonight,” Phichit says, a glimmer in his eyes. He hangs up. 

\---

Phichit closes his eyes and presses his fists to his temples. Seunggil’s face haunts him. Blank stare, unacknowledged tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. Tight jaw, stiff posture. His words brittle and cracking and strained the entire time. 

Seunggil has always been the one to hold himself together. It’s Phichit who breaks down, whose facade cracks. He can already feel his mind spiralling into blind panic, his chest and shoulders hunching over with the weight of his wings and this new development. 

And then he reaches up and slaps himself full in the face. 

_Goddamn it, Chulanont. Think._ Phichit rewinds their comm and plays the last few minutes back (just the audio part- he doesn’t want to see Seunggil’s face right now.) Okay. So. Pack his bag. Open up the directions for the chapel. Contact Leo and Guang-Hong. 

Phichit stands up and goes through his apartment. The place is completely non-incriminating except for a single Holopad pressed into the back of his closet. It’s off the government radar. He doesn’t want to explain how he managed to get his hands on it; he still regrets it, sometimes.

There’s not much that Phichit could do with it, anyway, given that he’s stuck in the city. He hovers in the revolutionary threads sometimes, writing up articles and posting info, but there are limits in his powers as a trapped Avien. 

After tonight, he won’t be stuck in the city anymore, but he doesn’t know what’ll happen next. 

Phichit feels a fresh wave of panic wash over him and forces himself to tamp it down. Seunggil’s probably got a plan- twenty-six, for every letter of the alphabet, and then some if those don’t work out. He finishes packing and pulls on as many layers of clothing as he can (it sounds cool in stories, but wearing six pairs of underwear is seriously chafing at Phichit’s ass) before plugging in his Holopad and comming Guang-Hong and Leo via private. 

It’s 8:30 AM. Guang-Hong answers the call after the second ring, blearily rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Phichit,” he yawns, then blinks his eyes, wide and owlish. “Wait, Phichit? What’s up?” 

Leo comes over. “Hey,” he says evenly. 

They haven’t talked in months. Maybe an entire year. 

The guy who Phichit had a fistfight with in elementary school- he seemed like an angel compared to what had gone down in high school. Although there’d been general hostility toward the non-Avien before Phichit’s time, regulations had suddenly spiked in the past couple of years. 

They were bringing the humans in for a new round of experimentation. 

It wasn’t so easy to brush off, now, since contact with a human could- if the government played their cards right, and you held a bad hand- literally lead to execution. It’d been bad. Phichit had gotten ambushed before school a few mornings, coming in with his wings bloody (they’d held the knife right where feather connected to skin- _if you like humans so much…_ ) and his torso black and blue. 

He didn’t complain, just silently rolled bandages around himself in the nurse’s office and wore a baggier tunic the next day. 

Leo and Guang-Hong had been through the same treatment, although Phichit didn’t know the full extent of it. He’d only seen the earlier pieces of evidence: Leo’s viola smashed to bits in the orchestra storage room, Guang-hong’s sketchpad flushed down the toilet. It was a sad transformation to watch, seeing two of the kindest people he knew harden to stone. 

Seunggil had dropped out for the past two years of high school. It’d been easier with him gone, and Phichit had hated every moment of it. He’d gone to a different specialization school than Guang-Hong and Leo, and after a while, they’d stopped talking. 

It takes a special kind of love, to let someone go. 

Now, Phichit nervously stares back out of the Holopad and checks out the background of their room. It doesn’t look too terrible: a little cramped and moldy, but that was just how all of the city residences looked. Guang-Hong and Leo have their faces held in a neutral expression, although they’re clearly expectant of Phichit to start. 

“I haven’t commed in a long time,” he says, lamely. 

“Yeah…” Guang-Hong mumbles. “What brought the change?” 

(They look so different.) 

Phichit takes a deep breath. _This was a bad idea, what do you think they’d do for you, Phichit._ “Wrong dial,” he says, moving his hand toward the top right corner of the screen to end the comm. 

“Come on,” Leo says, sticking his face into the screen. Guang-Hong flinches but doesn’t do anything more than that. Leo’s face is hard, angry. “We ate lunch with you in the bathroom for _two fucking years_. Do you think we wouldn’t be able to recognize when something’s up?” 

“Seunggil’s running away,” Phichit says, the words echoing loud and heavy. Like footsteps, almost, and Leo backs away. The look on his face isn’t shock. It’s… curious. 

“And you’re telling us why?” Guang-Hong blurts, just as Leo asks, “What happened?” 

Phichit runs a hand through his hair, messily combing it backwards. “You know how they’ve been collecting humans for the second round of experiments? Yeah… Seunggil just got a comm. He’s going to leave the city tonight, and I’m coming with him.” 

Leo shakes his head. “That’s practically suicide.” 

“Better than getting your DNA spliced with a parasitical mushroom, or something,” Phichit says tiredly. 

“We’re coming with,” Guang-Hong blurts, almost immediately. “You guys will die without us.” 

Phichit’s eyes grow round, but he decides not to question it. Even after years. “Meet us in the city chapel at midnight.” 

\---

Getting to the city chapel sounds easier than it actually is. 

Phichit hopes he doesn’t look too suspicious. It’s after curfew, and his body is round and bulky from the many layers of clothing that he has on. He’s got a knapsack slung over his back, carrying some solid foods, a couple nutrition tablets (they kept you from the brink of starvation, anyway) and a water collector. 

Yeah, he looks suspicious… 

The city chapel is crammed into a run-down branch of main square, and as soon as he gets there, Phichit breathes a sigh of relief. There aren’t many security cameras anymore- here, the shops are packed tightly together, roofs with their tiles peeling off and dingy storefronts claiming to sell voodoo techniques. Surveil here is shabby at best. 

That doesn’t prevent Phichit from sweating underneath his clothes, blush high and unnatural on his cheeks. His poker face has improved since the years (it had to, given the crowd he hung out- that he was), but he’s never completely mastered it. Not the way Seunggil had. 

If surveillance caught him right now, he’s not sure what he would do. 

The city chapel is a street away. It’s peeling and dark and moldy, since no one in the country is religious anymore. (Why worship angels when you had wings?) The doors are locked, but the bolts are falling out the windows, so Phichit wedges a large enough hole into the wood and heaves his leg up into the inside. 

It’s dark. He can’t see anything, at first, except for the pale light sliver that’s illuminated by the moonlight. Seunggil is leaning against a wall, Holopad in his hands. 

He looks good, as always. And Phichit thinks, _hah, my life is a double joke,_ because yeah his life has already been decimated by hanging out with a human, but falling in _love_ with one? That’s suicide. Literally. Mostly because the non-Aviens ended up dead. 

“Hey,” Seunggil says. He crosses the room in a couple quick strides, and Phichit swallows the weird mixture of nervosa and fear and mild attraction down and schools his features into something that resembles the mask that Seunggil has. “I got your travel file,” Seunggil says shortly, passing his Holopad to Phichit. 

Phichit glances down, and yeah, that’s him. The travel file looks stunningly legitimate, all of the colors and highlights and fonts perfectly duplicated. “I didn’t know I’d been planning on going somewhere,” he says, with a pale imitation of a grin. 

“Yeah, well, _now_ you are,” Seunggil says. His fingers are clenched too tightly around the Holopad case, the only indicator that he’s scared. Which is mildly impressive, since it’s dark in this chapel and Phichit is starting to get a little terrified of like, _dead government corpses_ rising up from the seats and coming to murder all of them. “The files won’t hold up if you trace the sourcing, but they’ll be enough to get us out of here.” 

Phichit laughs lightly. “You did this in a day?” 

“What, do you think I’m _stupid,_ ” Seunggil says, “I’ve been strategizing escape ever since that first decree was passed in ninth grade.” 

“I thought you made this in less than twelve hours, so I can’t think you’re all that stupid,” Phichit responds, jerking his hand at the passport. “This thing actually makes me look like a well-bred member of society.” 

“Yeah, that’s never going to be the case, passport or not,” Seunggil says. Their banter doesn’t fully mask the general atmosphere of terror, but it provides a flimsy cover. 

The window is wedged open once again, and two figures come in, their wings shadowy behind their backs. Phichit has half the mind to run before he reminds himself, _just Guang-Hong and Leo_ , and forces himself to release the tension in his body a little bit. 

“Seunggil!” Guang-Hong whisper-gasps, sprinting over and wrapping Seunggil in a hug. Seunggil’s arms hang awkwardly by his sides, like he doesn’t really know what to do with them, and Guang-Hong releases him after a second, smiling sheepishly. His teeth look distorted in the moonlight. “Sorry. Just. Haven’t seen you in a long time. I guess you still don’t like hugs…”

“You didn’t have to come,” Seunggil mumbles. “We haven’t talked in months…” 

“Yeah, cause you’re not _suicidal_ , unlike this guy,” Guang-Hong says, pointing at Phichit. 

“Hey!” Phichit protests. “This was Seunggil’s idea.” 

Guang-Hong rolls his eyes. “Gimme a minute and I’ll insult him too.” He places a hand on his hip, and Leo appears by his side, looking at Guang-Hong with a fond, albeit nervous, look on his face. Guang-Hong is the kind of guy who loves the black market stuffed animals he can find but doesn’t flinch at blood and knives and convoluted escape plans. 

No wonder Leo’s mildly in love with him. 

“We’ve been involved with revolutionary groups for about a year,” Leo says. “At first it was just to get a market for our art, but then we actually got sucked into the resistance network. Guang-Hong’s got a couple of hot spots on his Holopad. I think the nearest one is a hundred miles away from the city.” 

Seunggil grimaces. “That’s farther than I’d like… the chances of getting caught increase the longer we stay in transport.” 

“We’ve all been using the private wave, right?” Leo says. “And Seunggil has a plan. At least, I hope Seunggil has a plan. Because I don’t…”

At this, Phichit can almost see the wires and gears inside Seunggil snap into place, and the dry, slightly broken boy a second ago transforms into a calculating machine. 

He fiddles around on his Holopad. “Alright, I’ve sent everyone here travel passports. As Aviens, you’ll be able to move around with less suspicion, so I’m going to have to trust you guys to get me through the city gates.” He then removes a length of electrical rope from his backpack, and 1) how the _fuck_ did he get that and 2) Phichit stares in horror as meaning dawns on him. 

“You’re going to be escorting me out of the city with the pretense that you’re transporting me to a laboratory for experimentation,” Seunggil says flatly. 

“Is that- the rope- necessary,” Leo says weakly, staring at the metallic coil. 

Seunggil shrugs. “It’ll only knock me out for a couple hours or so. We’re located a quarter of the mile from the nearest transportation hotspot, so as soon as we get there, activate the rope and drag me on there. The red route will get you to the city gates. And Phichit, try not to look too guilty, okay.” 

“I _won’t_ ,” Phichit protests, and Seunggil quirks an eyebrow at him, unbelieving. 

“Half this operation relies on you being able to keep a straight face,” Seunggil snaps. 

“I won’t mess it up, then,” Phichit promises. Guang-Hong has the electrical rope in his hands, and in the dim lighting, it looks like a snake. Seunggil swallows, and the three of them head out of the chapel. 

They walk a few feet away from each other on the sidewalk, keeping their heads down and staying as far in the shadows as possible. It’s Seunggil Phichit is most concerned about- he’s a walking target without his wings, but it turns out that the electrical rope has other uses, too. 

When someone tries to touch him, they’re lying on the sidewalk two seconds later, their body splayed unnaturally on the ground. 

When they get near the transportation network, Guang-Hong regretfully shocks Seunggil, and Phichit makes himself stay quiet as Seunggil convulses a few seconds before falling backwards. It’s disturbing in a way that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a shiver racking through his body. Seunggil looks- dead. 

Even worse, in this city, vulnerable. 

It’s Guang-Hong that makes himself keep going, tying the rope around Seunggil tight enough to cut his wrists before fitting the ends together and hauling him upright. They board the train, and no one bats an eye. A few are staring at Seunggil with a gleam in their eyes. 

Phichit is going to be sick. He’s actually going to be sick. 

He’s certain that at any moment, they’ll be recognized. He’s not sure what might give them away. Maybe a twitch of the eye, maybe a whispered word, maybe Phichit’s goddamn inability to control his own face. But they never do. 

When they step outside the city gates and into the vaster network of transportation between cities, it’s only then that Phichit can breathe. They’re safe for now.


End file.
